Donut Ever Speak To Me Again!
by CraftyNotepad
Summary: Sex and doughnuts. Yeah, that'll get readers' attention, because I know everybody's crazy about doughnuts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: "Do I own Phil of the Future?" Why don't you ask me something I can answer "yes" to, like whether or not I dunk?

_Author's Note_: **Another PotF game discovered** while searching for the "Keely Star of the Future" online game. A "Keely-aged" Alyson Michalka awaits patiently as you give her a make over for her next PotF scene. There's a link for it on my author's page. It's no "Lloyd and Curtis Do Midnight Inventory At Mantis Hardware," "Messerschmitt Judges the Pickford Fair's Ketchup Tossing Contest," or "Let's Give Roswell a Tick Bath," but it doesn't pretend to be.

**Donut Ever Speak To Me Again!**

by CraftyNotepad

Crumbs. Every waitress and busboy has to deal with them. Some sweep them into their hand, others on to the floor, yet how many remove them with regret? Crumbs? Each with the same potential to satisfy hunger as their recent companions, yet these would never be savored, munched, nibbled and gnawed, and her mind chewed on this, ever pondering what decided their fate would differ. Crumbs.

The bell above the doorway announced new customers. That bell. It wasn't that it was annoying her by its tune. No. Its chime made her feel lighter, successful, even happier, which are good things, but it was still annoying her. What was it doing here? Tradition? Maybe for some doughnut shoppes, those hosting a few regular customers each morning and the occasional midmorning snackers, but that didn't apply at all to the invitingly aromatic Everything But the Hole, the new popular Pickford eatery. Its doorway bell rang out constantly, and that was what she found annoying, more annoying than the wasted existence of doughnut crumbs. Crumbs at least didn't pretend they were useful, the bell did. It'd have to go.

"You're out of here."

"What? O-okay. I'll go," Keely told her and started to get up from her table.

"What? Not you, Dear. I was talking to the bell."

"Oh-kay ... Maybe I should go anyway."

"Sid-down, Keely."

Keely Teslow was taken back, not anywhere near as much as Phil telling her that he and his family were from the future, but more so than when the lady spoke to the bell above the door, now busy at a smaller neighboring circular table. Brown-stained rings glued pale pink paper napkins at that table which, now absent of crumbs, was being picked up after and wiped down. Keely's larger table looked nearly as vacant, occupied simply by an untouched hot chocolate that had yet to leave a choco-ring on the formica table top, along with the shop's standard pink napkin which still held the majority of an old-fashion, along with bits of icing and crumbs. She hadn't eaten her doughnut so much as picked at it. Keely came here after school to think, to be around people, maybe eat a doughnut, but mostly to not be around Him. How did this lady know her?

"How did you know my name," Keely glanced at the lady's name tag, then at the man's who was serving customers from behind the counter, "Mom?" Cute, she thought, this place really was a "Mom and Pop" operation. A little smile formed on Teslow's face.

Doughnut crumbs still in her hand, "Mom" considered their fate one last time before brushing both her hands together, finally condemning the orphaned bits of bread to plunge somewhere dark inside a corner waste can before answering, "Oh, lots of people in here your age notice you, talk about you, even point."

This honest revelation didn't put Keely at ease. Being 'Keely,' she tried dealing at the situation from another perspective: It was good preparation for being a famous investigative reporter. Sure, nothing creepy about being treated as ... oh, this was not good ... treated as not a real person, but as a celebrity. Naturally, she had a taste of this before she met Phil, back in her popular in-crowd phase, yet any attention had been diluted by her clique of a dozen or so other girls. This? This was different because now all the focus was on her alone, and just the thought of being whispered about in denigratory ways made her feel, if not objectified, than at least less than a whole person. The shiver than ran through Keely didn't go unnoticed by another.

"You should get yourself a friend, Keely. Nothing makes a person seem more invisible than not being by herself."

Keely had had friends, even the best of friends. An exciting, exotic, enigmatic buddy that she THOUGHT she could trust with her heart before he did what he did and made her question what she took for granted. She didn't want to be unnoticeable among a circle of friends right now; she just wanted to be left alone.

Crumbless for now, "Mom" pulled out chair and used it as a pedestal in order to retie her right shoelace. Coy, since she already had the chair out, when her footwear adjustment was completed, the pedestal made like a chair again, complete with occupant. Keely now had company at her table of the uninvited and unwanted sort, not that "Mom" wasn't trying to be as warm as the doughnut shop itself. It was just that Keely didn't want advice or questions now, particularly from anyone's mother, and she particularly didn't desire any company.

"What's the matter, Dearie?"

"Nothing. Sorry, I just want to be alone to think. Thanks, though," offered Keely attempting a forced smile. Unconvincing, she was getting worse doing that, not better.

Unexpectedly only to Keely, the woman with the fifties' hairdo didn't mind her own business, get up and walk away. Instead, she scooted her chair closer to the table, maybe the lady sighed a little. Keely was taken aback. She the only customer in the place; there was a decent line of hungry teenagers becoming impatient over having to wait their turn for "Pops" to pull together their doughnut orders.

"Mom" had ignored them for the moment to sit with Keely. What ever happened to "the customer is always right?"

"Too hot?"

"Pardon?"

"Hot chocolate," Mom pointed out Keely's cardboard mug. "Is it too hot?"

"It's fine."

"How can you tell? You haven't touched it."

Keels was feeling uncomfortable, so she took a sip; it was fine, so she smiled in approval.

"You made that look good. You know what? I pour this all day, but never take the time to enjoy any myself. Mind if I join you?"

Keely shrugged and shook her head. Her new companion arose, popped over to the other side of the counter, and returned with her own ceramic mug which touted "World's Best ..." something. Whatever the "something" was, it curved around the side of the cup out of view.

"Mother, I could use a little help up front with the doughnuts," announced a harried husband slash co-owner.

"I'm busy right now."

"It looks like you're on a break."

"Exactly," she calmly replied, before taking a long sip of her warm chocolate. Across the table, her drinking partner looked stunned. "Oh, don't mind him. He loves a little pressure."

"He really looks like he'd like some help. If you'd like, I could -"

"My thinking was similar, only about you, Keely. You've been here a while and hardly touched your order. You look like a person who really needed someone to listen to her."

"No, really, I'm fi-"

"You're sitting here, not at a little table to be with your own thoughts, but at a table which seats six easily. Whether you realize it or not, you're inviting people to sit down next to you -"

Keely reached for her bag, "I can leave if you need this table for -"

"-and once one person, me, for example, breaks the ice, others follow - look out, here comes one now."

"Oh, no," Keely winced. Of all the doughnuts shops in the world, why did Diffy decided to come inside and plunk down next to her now?

"Make room, Teslow."

Crumbs. "Go away, Pim."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: "Do I own Phil of the Future?" Why don't you ask me something I can answer "yes" to, like whether or not I dunk?

**_Author's Note_**: First donut goes out to Boris Yeltsin for being both the first reader and reviewer of this story. Gee, that really deserves two donuts (o)(o) of his own choice. No, those don't look like what you think they do. Teenagers! Get your minds out of the gutter, will you?

**_Pickfordian Spotted!_**: In September 30th's CSI: NY episode entitled "Keep It Real" Alyson will be interrogated, so submit your questions now. Let's see, "Keep It Real" ... she'll be playing a rocker ... again. Oh, for the days when she was an investigative reporter sporting a mustache back at H. G. Wells ...

_**Pickfordian Spotted!**_: Have you seen Lise's new commercial, the one where a woman gives her a hug just so she can undo the back of her dress to check out her label? First, her outfit is torn off her by the munchkins on iCarly and now this. Makes one long for the days in Pickford when all the unwanted attention Barbara Diffy had to deal with was a mildly amorous water guy and her daughter planning to set her up with the local butcher. Next time, Pim should think "baker."

**Donut Ever Speak To Me Again!**

by CraftyNotepad

Crumbs.

There goes that bell again. More customers and guess who's still on her break?

'Pop' is right. Popularity has its own burdens and right now his included more work for the 'in' doughnut eatery, Everything But the Hole. More customers meant more baking. Yes, this also resulted in more money in the till, but at the cost of listening to the likes of this every day:

"Hi ya, Pops"

His back turned, "Hi, uh -," Pops is holding a fresh tray of doughnuts to refill one of the four display cases with. "Oh, it's you again!"

"Do you have anything good today, Pops?"

"Our Canadian Beaver Tails are scrumptious."

The gathering of teenage boys from the local junior / senior high school began snickering.

"Hey, that's what these doughnuts are called, 'Beaver Tails'."

The snickering became louder, the doughnuts' name being repeated like a punch line.

"What else you got?"

"Well, the Fudge Puppies are popular," the doughnut man offered. Yeah, like "fudge puppies" would settle this group down. What was Pop thinking? "If you want to try something other than the traditional doughring, consider the Vada from India. These were sold on the railways there and have been around for centuries." No takers. "Or - or perhaps you'd like some Yow Ja Guei from China, fried dough on a stick."

"Are they sweet?" Ricky asked.

"No, they're not the least bit sweet; they're oily."

The crowd of teenage males uttered sounds of revulsion, not good for business.

Pops tried to rebound from this faux pas, "Hey, it's on a stick. Everything's better on a stick, right Guys?" Snickering returned. Pops didn't appreciate their juvenile sense of humor, but it was better than retching sounds regarding his food. "So, what will it be? Maple Bars? Bear Claws? An 'éclair'? Can I interest you in a few links from my chained doughnuts of the day?" Pop offered, his arms now outstretched and hoisting his own creation: doughnuts fried together as a chain, each freely moving through the doughnut hole of its partners. Everyone had theories, but nobody really knew how he made them without sticking to one another.

"I think -" Ricky Singh took his time.

Pops was immediately impatient, but tried to hide it, "Take your time."

"Well, I feel like - no, no, you probably don't have it. Not your fault. I'll settle for-"

"SETTLE? Look. Kid. We have doughnuts from the four corners of the globe. You want it, we got it. How about a Cajan doughnut? Just name it and I'll -"

"Waffles. Yeah, I feel like a waffle. A nice, fried waffle."

"A WAFFLE'S NOT A DOUGHNUT! GET OUT OF HERE! We don't serve your dimply kind, Dimples. Doughnuts have holes, not divots." Pops picked up an almond-iced doughnut and hurled it at the trouble making waffle lover's face. "Try committing just once to a hole in the middle, ya little crumb!"

Contact. With his hand. "Thanks, Pops!" Ricky chuckled, then, satisfied, dashed out the door, ready to munch on his third fee doughnut this week.

The boys at the counter caught Pops smiling. This was some kind of game these two played.

"Hey, Pop, how about free doughnuts for the rest of us?"

Surrounding "Yeahs" immediately supported this inquiry.

"Sure."

"Really?"

"Of course," Pop answered, knowing more than his customers did about doughnuts. "First Friday in June, there's a free doughnut with your name on it."

"June?"

"First Friday in June, National Doughnut Day? Jeez, what do they teach you kids in school these days about patriotism?"

"Here come some of our teachers, Pops. Why don't you ask them?"


End file.
